Frances-Ann Norton: Poetry

Dream Poem 52: Gypsy Boats Rail cards Piles of money in my handbag Trying to count it mum opens the front door it starts blowing about. Looking for the rail cards and realize I can get one now because I’m a student. The Gypsy boats and the Friscans. I’m travelling with a little Gypsy girl. We are staying in a great house Working our passage. We have got the lads to clean an industrial sized gas cooker the landlady uses to cook everyone’s breakfasts She is very pleased with the results. We are trying to find a relative of the girl To reunite her. Tim and the his twins and Kathleen are all round the table “I have to give everyone a kiss” I say. “Good morning” Kathleen laughs. (Image By Helen Cammock)

Dream Poem 50: Maternity Ward In a maternity ward there are a few of us, maybe  three or four on a ward. It is the past the 1950’s there is a lot of blue Formica. It is going home day and the mothers are all getting their babies ready. They are huge as if we have been in hospital for months. These are not new-born size, more like 18 month olds. I help a mum put a dress on her baby as she has a few other little ones on the floor. There are nappy bags, clothes, water from baths, everything is trodden in together dirty and I’m going round picking up items and tidying… A nurse asks how I have been getting on and did I buy a workers pass for the duration of my visit. I say yes this card or pass allowed me to buy things in hospital, food, clothing, nappies. I am glad to be leaving at the same time I don’t want to go. Another ward is really filthy and I spend time picking up things from the floor there is a w...

Dream Poem 61: Fantasy PNG shop Chapter of mats in Australia. Sitting with Kathleen. I thank her for the kind emails while I’ve been sick. Fr Chris comes by and says something, ‘I have your cancer you know’ I say to him in an angry way. He’s upset and I think I better apologise. We decide to go across to a nearby island, when we get there, there is a shop selling artefacts from Papua New Guinea, it’s full of rare and beautiful things. Artefacts I’ve only ever seen in books. All the shop assistants are from PNG I am so excited. I fill my basket. And chat with the PNG men and say ‘I’m going to PNG one day.’ I’m so happy and I bring the other Friscans from our commuity to look. It’s very hot and very sunny.

Dream Poem 60: Diplodocus Love Chapter of mats in Australia. I’m singing with a diplodocus in the water. I’m his girlfriend the weight of his fin is so heavy in the water, I must leave him to find one of his own kind in the swimming pool maze. An arm full of waxy lard It has been set into huge slabs and I’m holding it in my arms but it is breaking up “that’s what I hate about poetry, its so mutable” “but that’s what I love about it too” Pulling off a motorway.

The Change part 3: Exposed and Vulnerable It took a while to realize That she was ill And not a cold or an easily got over infection The kind of illness that Requires specialists Hospital visits Vast quantities of time off work Pitying looks from friends Bunches of flowers And cards The operation happened so fast She had a week to get Her affairs in order To rearrange, to re order her life And commitments To tell people To say goodbye And she cried a lot that week Unexpectedly in places and in front of people She was exposed and vulnerable And she let everyone see it.

The Change part 2: Change Size, Change Colour The change, It happened and Piles of clothes slung out. Too small, Too black, Ooops too small again. Meds and many cakes, Oooops too small again, Chuck. The pile is growing Charity shop shopping in larger and larger sizes More clothes, nothing looks right anymore. Searching for disguises and camouflages. A cut of cloth that hides the form underneath. Black garments thrown on to a pile on the tall boy Blue robes appear, in ultramarine and Lapis hues Coral pink, burnt orange and cinnamon. She is ready, She is here, she is alive.

The Change part 1: She Changed her Mind When did the change happen? There was a moment? When she was in the pain of the moment There was a gradual realization Of the situation So incremental, so creeping she didn’t notice Until she positively knew That it was time to swap. There was a division Between that thinking which she now called past And the present moment and growing Forward Which she called the future. And it was a time between two colours. Prismatic, all colour black and ultramarine, Lapis Lazuli blue. Exclusively for three years she wore Black. To mark the passing of her father And she realized, this too has markers And way stones It made things simple she wears black – he is dead she wears black – to be invisible she wears black – to remember she wears black – not to forget she wears black – and knows everyday He is gone. Every piece of clothing, Underwear t...

After Fire Woman by Bill Viola Transformational Elemental The veil between life and death Rebirth in a new element.

Dream Poem 45: End of Term Hiding in a car park, lying sleeping My body in a car parking space. At the centre of everything Nothing is important Except to be and to love I can strive and try I can work really hard every day Driving, eating, teaching, researching What does it mean? It may mean nothing It may mean everything Be calm Be still Rest It has been a long year A recovery year A year of bright buds of hope A year of learning new skills A year of finishing things I Ask again – every step, every breath Every heart-beat, be with me. 

Victim and victimiser When the whole world is at peace When night has fallen there is God’s face In the stars of the sky In the silhouetted land In my minds eye On the one I love On the one I ignore On the one I give On the one I give not On the one of my children On the two of my children On all of the children Is it my lot to wander gardens Walking barefoot asking pardon? I’m given a choice. Look inside Don’t be blind And Listen. Very. Quiet. Very.  Hard. Concentrate, attend, be present. The victim and the victimiser Are just words and split factions States of being irrelevant to God So forget victimhood, being a victimiser God’s love dissolves, he is the great atomiser Exploder of the false self and selves Clear the decks, throw books from the shelves. God is all in all I am who am Yahweh.

Dream Poem 12 and 19: Wax Mannequins Mannequins made of wax Reanimated And walking around on their own. And from my eyes A flash of blue so bright I nearly blind myself. The two men dressed in Victorian outfits duck out of the way. And I feel the power Surge And know. I have found my voice in truth I feel like I'm coming home.

This Child. This child – once she laughed And another time – serious In a dark and closed ward. Strangled of oxygen, strictured of light Or vitamin, breeze or vertiginous sight. But that was then. Now. Adult large Grown into her skin and bone and scar Quietly keeping her secrets to herself Unobtrusively beautiful and rare.

Thought about the Magnificat Magnificent Magnificat Day of favour Promise of closeness Wings shadow Yawning babe.

Colour and Sound: Visit to a Bell Tower  Church bells and steeple steps – tower captains And sallies,  methods,  cut carpets Ropes up, up, up – the bells hidden Above  peal, sing, ring. On the wall honours and accolades Photos and dates, coat hooks Chilly walls. Neat sound box Of hymns perhaps not today? Rings of waves of Sound Absorbed by the bodies here present What else do we absorb? If we take in beauty and music Does an image also reverberate through the eye and brain in waves of colour, waves of sonic beauty. The image thrown upside down by the eye and recalibrated by the brain what if I painted upside down or went to a gallery walking on my hands? Light and dark,  shape and shadow Colour and depth and sound.

The Gold – for all the Icon Painters. Creativity is a path to silence, reflection, spirituality Being in touch with my soul Trying to express God’s creation in paint Abstract landscape Weather Trying to depict infinity A quick path To this concept Is Flat gold This is too easy On an icon Gold equals Infinity Space Palimpsest, proplasmos Ah such an easy answer Although it took someone else to tell me this I have spent a year and a day Ever since that fog bank in Orkney Trying trying trying To depict liminal space Perhaps I have been looking for Purgatory? The space between Heaven and Earth Between dying and reaching Heaven A place of purification Like the court of the Gentiles outside the Temple in the Old Testament Like standing next to the veil of the Temple Trying to look through it but not being able to The Sanctuary doors in Orthodox Christian churches The rood screen in the Cathedral hiding my Daughter from eyes ...

Memory (how to make) Shadows, mist, fogged memory Play games with perception Over layering memory with what Is being actually seen A double exposure Outside inside, inside outside What is inside, what is outside What’s inside the eye re projected upside-down on the retina. superimposing the images transparencies of two paintings trace, photocopy, photograph them Colour, shape, line tone Overplayed Under exposed Hidden in a fog bank Waiting for the sun.

Dream Poem 51; Arsenic green A yard sale In mums back garden We have been preparing for months Bits of kid’s play furniture and the like We are using the back garden gate to move things in and out inside an old kitchen used for school dinners. The kind with a gas hob and huge oversized giant utensils, pans and pots it is deserted and empty and everything in it is cracked, faded, very used and old, not in its prime, from another time, still serviceable but showing its age. The whole kitchen has a feeling of faded glory and neglect. Cavernous as if I am a small child and it is a huge echoing room darkened in shades of Arsenic green and cerulean blue.  (Image by Anthony Earnshaw)

Dream Poem 55: Keep Paddling Teaching paddling, I’m teaching a small new group We are in America we drop the car in a car park and get an inflatable dinghy at the dock. I’m in charge. I paddle it to an historic part of town, we go look round an old house museum and there are actors dressed up in Victorian costume, we can ask them questions about living in the house. There is a Dad in black and a top hat, some children they sit on a stool and we can question them. There is a protected bay near the shops. We are in the dinghy again, I point out to sea, it is really choppy. Paddling around the bay we come out of the protected area into what is now quite a wild wild sea. I tell everyone to hold on. It is very rough water and difficult paddling but we manage to get through. Then the sky goes suddenly dark yet we haven’t arrived back at to the car park and our car, I don’t know where I am going, it seems to be taking longer to get back t...

Grief Like a Curled Fist  Grief like a curled fist strike ready like an unfurled fiddle fern Soft Fresh Green And all it takes Is the sun It blossoms unexpectedly Blackly Ironically Full of mirthless laughter Furl your fist once more I want to enjoy the sun I want it to give me strength Not suck me down into quick sand I will stand on the edge I will let it wash and ebb over me And I will stand yet.

Here Here in this place Heels kick and beats brew Here in this place Language spoken time and true.

Icon gold God is reflected in the gold and God is reflected in everything. The fogbank and the gold Gold of heaven Gold of Ophir Gold of infinite space Mists of presence Light of memory Shadows of infinite space The paintbrush on the glaze The gold leaf, the size Between the gold and the paint Reflect In the water glass glaze And the matt sheen gleam of gold The forgetful reflexivity of gold The infinite space and the true presence How much longer will time rule my day and night Show me a glimpse of that timeless place Peace and rest. In the gold.

Dream Poem 57: Inexorably Preparation time alone. I’ve been here before, These places are familiar to me As familiar as routine. These people are archetypes, the children, the older people I’ve met them before. I’m outside In the fresh air Standing by the car waiting Still Quiet Peaceful. Things have changed and changed again And what was once the norm No longer is so Through this change the story moves on Inexorably. I am standing up I speak a word very loudly It is full colour.

Like Water in Reverse Leaves flowing across the road a restless tide of maple coloured syrup. Stray side wind that whisks dead leaves into her arms, Fills her cheeks and kiss blows them Rolling Tumbling, across a zebra crossing in bright sunlight. Down Swinnow Road she tosses the leaves up high An amber murmuration Hurled the height of a caramel sandstone rail-bridge they catches the sun like golden confetti. Honey coloured lentoid lights against the black of the bridge interior all dark shadows under the pigeon inhabited vault. And further along the road where the Merry Monk was A torrent of leaves pour up a hill, like weir water in reverse strong, flowing, ripulous ripples of russet, burnt orange and cinnamon.

Dream Poem 56: The Tunnel We are invaded by the enemy Suddenly life is turned upside-down. A few people have time to run down to the cellar and beyond the cellar is a network of tunnels and doors. We are cosy under blankets on old upholstered arm-chairs. We’ve been down here a few days when we realize it is very quiet upstairs. I sneak to see what’s going on and am discovered. The soldier says he’s getting sonic readings of an area under the house. ‘It’s the cellar’ I say and then think – why did I say that? They find the cellar and I’m supposed to stay with them. I manage to get ahead and see the people out of the tunnel “Get in. Get in quickly – they are coming” They just manage to shut the door when the soldiers come up and ask what I was doing and I say, “I was just playing with my doll.” It’s all very nerve wracking but the soldiers don’t find the tunnel or my friends.

Dream Poem 38: My Eyes My eyes open Very wide In surprise How could I have forgotten this…..?

Dream poem 37:Train Journey On a train Partway there, there is a hold up between stations, no one can get on or off. We are there for days. Some passengers are performing a variety show I watch from my bed on the train. Frankie has a jelly in the shape of a brain and is eating a spoon of it. There are all kinds of birds All different. Finaly the train sets off  and starts moving again We are going to be ok.

Dream Poem 43: Boat to Bruges; Travelling by Swimming Pool It’s a college trip to Bruges, I’m taking some students our boat floats in a swimming pool which floats in the North Sea. Buoyant and large and full of blue, blue water surrounded  by grey-green water, two different kinds of water. One salinated full of sea life and vegetation one sterile and chemical, bleached life less. We walked on the beach, it was full of clam shells, we had travelled by swimming pool across the North sea with an Algerian Captain. The boat had sunk with all our stuff on it – to the bottom of the swimming pool and we had all got out.  But now there was no boat and it was time to go home. I stood on the beach looking and wondering but knowing it would be ok. The boat was sunk Yet I stood on the beach Wondering “Everything has gone to shit” I thought “The worst that could happen has happened” Yet I have head space To contemplate To analyse ...

Dream Poem 34: On a Roof with Authority Male Houses mapped out in wire mesh below On black boggy soil I am on a roof looking down with Authority Male As I walk Each step has the precision and deliberation Of a ballerina.

Dream Poem 15: Rock Around the Clock. We are at a huge party. We have to do an exhibition dance in front of everyone. I went up to the DJ booth, and asked them for ‘Rock Around the Clock’ as it was jolly and people would know it. When it came on there was so much talking we couldn’t hear the start of the music. As we danced I rested my teeth on his scalp. When the song finished I asked them to put it on again But he was off out the door. I left Running down a green glass corridor black with night.